waving daintily
the object of Spring’s desire
on a sunny day
In response to The Daily Post prompt: object.
Change
Mourning ice catches the sun.
a leaf made of ice
stands in the brackish water
a wintry lagoon
where the heron fishes
for his breakfast
in the breaks of the icea breeze blows in from
the south
the sun radiates heat from above
and the ice passes away
is no more
as temperatures risea taste of summer afternoon
contrasts
with the wintry morning
as the high tide
takes the last
of winter’s icebound spell
out to sea
In response to today’s prompt from The Daily Post: contrast.
sunflower’s morning glory shines
as autumn sneaks in on mushroom feet
and summer, determined to hold fast
spills over the garden fence
in the forest
on an autumn day
a wind-driven magic carpet of
orange, yellow, red leaves fly
float
drift
swoop
down to earth
an immigration of sky spirits
populating the pathways
a whoosh of heat
as the house clicks and rattles
the season’s first frost
chopping onions
in the stream
of early morning
the house becomeshome
is where the heart is
learning to reside
snowflakes mingling
with raindrops
a fall transition
We had our first hint of winter yesterday. It was mitten weather, cold and damp after a week with the remnants of Sandy swirling wind, gray clouds, and rain showers over the area. The lake effect machine (Lake Erie in the north) was turned on, bringing rain at first. Big, fat snowflakes joined in, reminding us that winter weather will soon take over.
through the old doorway
summer creeps
on wisteria vines
It looks, it smells, it feels like springtime. The air is warm and moist, not cold and dry, with a green and earthy scent instead of the odor of decaying vegetation usually present during the fall and winter months. The daffodils have sent up green shoots, responding to the sunshine and the unseasonably warm temperatures. The birds are twitterpated, but skeptical. I bet even Punxsutawny Phil was confused and confuzzled in his prognostications.
The Great Groundhog has predicted 6 more weeks of winter. What winter?
At sunrise this morning I watched a red squirrel climbing up one of our maple trees in the front yard. We don’t often see squirrels except for the occasional glimpse of one back in the woods. The rest of the property — near the pond and in the meadows — is too open for them, and the hawks would likely find they make a tasty meal. This morning’s visitor lives across the road near the old farmhouse. I watched as she scampered up the tree, easily and quickly making her way from ground to top, following the sun from horizon to sky.
I hope she made it home safely, back to the trees across the road where the sun makes its first appearance during winter mornings here in the Bogs.
Bountiful Healing 